


The Two of Us

by lover_singer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-10 11:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_singer/pseuds/lover_singer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a text.  John.  1 AM.  John sent him a text.  Baby’s coming.  Will you come? JW  Sherlock hesitated only a moment, with his violin in hand, before replying.  Where?  SH  <br/>...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby's Coming

Before you read, here is a legend of the different fonts:

_ Italics- Character's good or desperate thoughts and text messages. _

**Bold- Character's truthful thoughts or angry thoughts.**

_**Bold Italic- Memory or another thought voiced by another character.  (Often if it is Sherlock, he is hearing John or Mycroft; For John, it is usually Sherlock he hears.)** _

 

 

...

It started with a text.   _ John _ .  1 AM.  John sent him a text.   _ Baby’s coming.  Will you come? JW _  Sherlock hesitated only a moment, with his violin in hand, before replying.   _ Where?  SH _

The address had him in a flurry of movement to put his instrument away and pull on his belstaff before rushing down the stairs to call for a cab.

…

_ Panic. _ **_Stop panicking._ ** _ I’m not panicking. _  Sherlock recalled that night and the anxiety that had shown on John’s face.  He could remember Mary’s face too, showing panic, but her feelings may have had more to do with Magnussen’s threat.  He knew the reason for John’s anxiety, for it mirrored his own.   _ Too much… too fast… Feels wrong…  Stop panicking. _

Sherlock hated hospitals.  Too clean, too white.  He also hated the memories.  He could remember waking up in surgery, and the pain.  He recalled Mary’s threat, and how helpless he felt.  He felt his feet stutter, and caught a glimpse of his white face in a window he passed.   **Shut up.  Not now.**  He chastised himself.   _ John. _  He turned down the hallway to the maternity ward and tried to get his breathing under control.  It would not do to show up in the middle of a panic attack.   _ Stop panicking. _

Something was wrong.  He could hear shouting, and he saw John being led out of a room, to a wall of chairs.  John was very white, but stood still.  Until he saw Sherlock.  Then, the doctor let out a low moan ( _ relief?) _ , and ran to meet him.  “Thank God you’re here.”  He said, quickly hugging the detective.  He answered Sherlock’s unvoiced question.  “Mary’s stats dropped quickly, they had to take her to emergency surgery.  I’m not allowed.”  John murmured, and Sherlock nodded once.  

“Should I get us some coffee?”  He asked, and John nodded, looking behind him at the door Mary must be behind.  Sherlock turned, and went to the machine to get two cups.  When he returned, John was still standing, uncertainly looking between the empty nurse’s station and the same door.  Sherlock pressed the coffee into John’s hand and moved him gently to the chairs upon the wall.  It was eerily quiet.

Sherlock used his fingers to mime out a violin concerto from Mendelssohn upon his knee, while he watched John.  John hadn’t drank any of his coffee, and Sherlock knew his eyes must be dry for how long he’d gone without blinking.  Sherlock had finished the concerto three times, before becoming concerned for John’s eyes.  He laid his hand upon John’s arm, causing the blonde to look up at him.  Sherlock started to pull away, but John put down his coffee and placed his free hand upon Sherlock’s.   _ Breathe. _

They looked forward, to the door again, staying in this position until a doctor came to them hours later.  They stood as the doctor greeted them.

“Your wife is doing just fine.  No complications.  We’ll of course keep her overnight.”  He paused and took a breath.  “The babies will need a bit of monitoring--”  John made a choked sound, and Sherlock cleared his throat. 

“Babies?  I thought you were only expecting one?”  He asked, looking to John incredulously.  John looked as shocked as Sherlock felt.  

“She never brought me to the scans.  She just said that she and the baby were healthy!”  John said to Sherlock, looking back to the doctor.  “Twins?”  The doctor nodded, his face crinkling in a smile. 

“One boy, one girl.  Both healthy, but as I said, we want to keep them for monitoring.  Both had a bit of trouble breathing when we delivered.”  He congratulated John, and shook both his and Sherlock’s hands before turning away.  John shakily sat in his vacated chair.  

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?  Did she think I’d leave?”  John asked no one.  Sherlock didn’t reply, but sat next to him, thinking.  

_ Fear of Magnussen? Another secret, Mary, why?  Two babies…  Too much… Too fast…  Stop panicking. _

Sherlock’s thoughts were shattered by a scream.  He stood, and was running to the source, John on his heels.  They made it into the room, to find a nurse paging the doctor, and an empty bed.  Sherlock looked at the scene.   _ Bed clothes thrown hastily… IV needle and monitors taken off quickly and forcefully.  Bit of blood on the sheets…  Mary’s overnight bag, opened, but not empty. _

Mary Watson had disappeared.

...   

It was almost six o’clock in the morning by the time the movement and noise had settled in the maternity ward.  The police, then Mycroft had been called to investigate Mrs. Watson’s disappearance.  The police offered no explanation and were soon banished by an irate John.  Sherlock and Mycroft had investigated the room quite thoroughly, with John lingering in the background.  Sherlock spoke to Mycroft in hushed tones, trying to keep his usual harsh deductions in check.

“The nurse saw nothing, what of the doctors?”  He asked.  Mycroft shook his head, sniffing annoyingly.  

“Nothing.  It appears that she left of her own volition.  As it stands, I believe we should allow this to play out…”  Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother, anger on his face.

“Play out?  Why would she leave her newborn children, Mycroft?  Even I, with my lack of understanding of the human emotion spectrum, can question why someone would abandon their loved ones so completely.”  Mycroft gave a knowing smirk.

“Yes, but you know that feeling so well, don’t you brother mine?”  He said, pretending to examine his fingers upon his umbrella.  Sherlock glared.

“Stop being so cryptic.  It doesn’t suit you to be mysterious and intelligent.”  Sherlock said, and was delighted by his brother’s returned glare.  John interrupted.

“Both of you, shut up.  Sherlock, what do you make of this?”  He asked, coming from his place by the door to stand next to the detective.  His eyes were boring into Sherlock’s, and Sherlock found himself thinking  _ breathe. _   He looked away, looking around the room again, taking in the facts.   _ Thrown bed clothes, open overnight bag, three items missing… Passport, day clothes, cash… dust in the bathroom. _  Here he went back to the bathroom, looking to the ceiling.   _ Cliche, but plausible.  Blood? _  Sherlock bent next to the toilet and was rewarded in finding three small drops of blood.   _ So she climbed up into the ceiling, possibly escaping by getting into another room and making a run for it.  To what end? _  Sherlock stood, and looked to John, preparing for the anger.

“John…”  He started, and watched as John’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t.  Just tell me.”  John growled, and Sherlock understood.   _ I’m not one of your clients.  _

“As soon as Mary was lucid from surgery, she waited until the room was clear to change into day clothes, then grabbed a couple of items from her bag.  From there, she used the toilet as leverage and removed a panel from the ceiling.  She probably went a few rooms over, so that she could escape undetected by us.  I don’t know what she is running from, but I believe she has her passport.”  Sherlock finished, standing tall, hands clasped behind his back.  Mycroft snorted, tapping his umbrella on the ground.

“You know what she is running from, brother mine.”  He stated, before looking to John.  “I believe congratulations are in order.  Pity I don’t have any cigars on my person.”  John had opened his mouth, but Mycroft turned back to Sherlock.  “Remember my warning, Sherlock.  Give my best to Mrs. Hudson.”  With that, he turned and left the room.  John looked to Sherlock, confused.

“Warning?”  He asked, and Sherlock shook his head.   _ Don’t get involved. _ **Far too late, Mycroft.**

“Just the usual dribble from my brother.”  Sherlock replied, looking to John.  They held gazes for too long again, and Sherlock couldn’t help where his thoughts went.   _ John... There's something I should say... Something I always meant to say, that I should have said before...  _ **He’s devastated over Mary, it wouldn’t do to add to it.  Shut up, shut up now.** _ John… _

They were interrupted by a nurse coming into the room.  “Dr. Watson… Oh, pardon me.”  They broke eye contact, looking to the young woman.  She smiled, “Hello, Dr. Watson,  I wanted to give you an update on your babies, and see if you wanted to meet your daughter and son.”  John said nothing, but pursed his lips and looked down to his feet.  Sherlock knew this stance.   _ Anxiety, fear…  _ **_Panic_ ** _.   _

Sherlock spoke.  “Could you please give us a moment?”  He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the red headed nurse, and she smiled.

“Of course, be back to check on you.”  She replied, checking her chart and wandering out of the room.  As soon as the door snapped closed, John’s face crumpled, and he shakily sat upon Mary’s bed.

“I can’t… Sherlock, I can’t do this!  I didn’t even want a baby.  Now I have two!”  John’s hands scrubbed his face, and tangled into his hair.  “After all that’s happened, how can I even look at them?  How can I tell them about their mother, when I don’t even know her?”  His last question was strained, for his voice had broke as he gave into the tears.  Sherlock didn’t think, he just moved.  He settled between John’s legs and gently pulled John’s hands away from his head, wrapping the doctor’s hands around him.  He in turn wrapped his own arms around John.

“John Hamish Watson, you can do this.  They need you.  John… everything will be alright.”  He paused, as John snorted into his chest, disbelief clear.  “John… I will help you.”  At this John looked up at him, eyes shiny.  His eyes were red rimmed, and his cheeks were pale, but that didn’t stop his face from showing utter shock.  Sherlock almost laughed.  “John, of course I will help you.”   _ I love you.  Breathe. _

“Sherlock… You have no idea what you’re saying.  Babies… They change everything.”  John stared at him.  Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Yes, hundreds of changing diapers, all-nighters, messy houses, loud obnoxious crying and various noises.  Have you not lived with me before?  You should be used to this already, although perhaps without the diapers.”  Sherlock ticked off the numerous changes, and John gave a watery smile, a small laugh escaping.  He sobered immediately.

“You won’t be able to just take off for cases…”  John started, but Sherlock had already thought of this.

“If Lestrade and Sally Donovan have anything to say about me bringing infants to a crime scene examination, then they can find another consulting detective.”  Sherlock said, grinning at the thought of their faces if he showed up with the babies.  John shook his head, continuing.

“You won’t be able to chase all the criminals down, and go on dangerous adventures anymore.”  John stated.  Sherlock was quiet for a moment, but then nodded.

“I’m getting a bit old for it, anyway.”  He stated seriously.  John snorted, but accepted his answer.  He spoke again.

“Mycroft is going to hate this.”  John murmured looking away, and Sherlock truly smiled at that thought.

“All the more reason to do this.”  Sherlock said, reaching his hand to John’s cheek.  The doctor looked up at him, and his face broke into a true smile.

“Don’t do this just because it will infuriate Mycroft.”  John said, laughing.  Sherlock frowned.

“I’m not.  I’m doing it for you.”  He stated, and John sobered, but still smiled.

“I know.”  He said.  He sighed, and stood, starting to walk to the door.  “Let’s find that nurse.”  Sherlock followed him out.   _ Breathe. _

…

While John found the doctor and nurse, Sherlock wandered a little ways down the hall, looking for a bathroom.  He found one at the very end, but was distracted by a giant window.  He looked in and saw a room full of blues and pinks.  There were lines of baby carriers, with only five occupied.  When Sherlock looked in, he found the name  **Watson** and was effectively stopped.  There in two plastic bassinets, one in pink and one in blue, were John’s children.  Sherlock found himself in disbelief.

Both babes had John’s face, although the baby girl was almost a clone.  Blonde hair was upon her head, and when she opened her eyes, there was John’s gray-blue color.  Her tiny fist clutched at the blanket around her, and her slight body was the only reminder of Mary.  When Sherlock turned to the baby boy, he was unsurprised to find John’s eyes again, but instead of the blonde hair, found the boy to have raven locks, with a slight twist, as if to indicate curls.  The boy was stockier than his sister, seeming to have John’s build.  Sherlock didn’t know how long he stood staring, but was broken out of his reverie with John’s voice.

“My father had black, curly hair.  That must be where he gets it.”  He spoke quietly, coming to stand next to Sherlock.  Sherlock looked at him, saying nothing.  John looked at him too, smiling a small smile.  “Both are healthy as can be.  Ten fingers and ten toes, the both of them.  They only need names, then they can be released after paperwork.”  Sherlock heard the silent question being asked.   _ Are you sure about this? _  Sherlock looked back to the beautiful babes.   **How can I love them so much already?** **_Because they’re John’s._ **

“I like the name Hamish.”  Sherlock murmured.  John let out a breath of mock annoyance, although when Sherlock looked at him, John was smiling again.

“I know you do.”  John paused, then asked quietly, “Can I add to it?”  Sherlock nodded, curious.  “Hamish William Watson.”  He stated, and Sherlock could feel his breath leave his chest.   _John…_ **Breathe!**  Sherlock smiled.  

“That should be acceptable.”  He murmured, breathing softly.  John smiled, and spoke again.

“And for the girl…”  He paused again, and Sherlock thought he knew what it would be ( _ had to be _ ).  “Rachel.”  He said, and Sherlock found himself looking to the babe in question.  _ It could be nothing else. _

“Fitting.  What about for a middle name?”  Sherlock asked, not trusting himself to look at John.  John’s sentence surprised him.

“I was hoping you could help me with that.”  Sherlock hesitated a beat, then said,

“Rachel Astrid Watson.”  He looked to John, who was wearing a bemused look.  “Astrid means ‘Divine Strength’.”  John shook his head, and smiled.

“No… It’s just that…”  He huffed out a laugh.  “I didn’t think that my children would have such strange names.  We’re really not giving them a chance on their future playground.”  He giggled a bit and Sherlock found himself giggling too.

“Well... I have experience in that area.  I’ll help them.”  He said, looking to the babes again.  John spoke again.  

“Would you like to hold one of them?”  He asked quietly.  Sherlock tore his eyes away from them.   _ Fear… Panic… Breathe. _

“Oh god, yes.”  He murmured.  John grinned.

…

A few hours later found them at Baker St., exhausted.  After naming Rachel and Hamish, John had left to his and Mary’s old flat to get all of the supplies that he and Mary had acquired in preparation for the baby.  Thankfully, they had enough to get started that the only additional thing to get was a car seat and carrier for Hamish.  They had many changes of neutral baby clothes, so it wasn’t a priority to get new clothes.  Once he had delivered all of the supplies, he was surprised to find three men in impeccable suits standing outside of 221b.  “We were sent to assemble the babies’ room.  It will be finished when you return.”  John was then shown into a black car, carrying his children’s car seats, and the diaper bag he had been handed.  By the time he had reached the hospital, he had found the diaper bag had been stocked with several premade bottles, nappies, and quite a few burping clothes.  John had told Sherlock all of this, confused, and Sherlock had given him a stern look, that said clearly,  _ come on, John, we both know what’s going on here. _  It seems Mycroft knew about their situation hours after their decision had been made.   _ Honestly, not all that unusual. _

When they had made it back to Baker St., they found not only the babies’ room finished, but Sherlock’s room changed as well, with the furniture rearranged to allow two beds to fit.  Sherlock had raised his eyebrow, but didn’t comment on it, so John stayed silent too.  Honestly, Sherlock would in all probability be up most nights anyway.  They had then journeyed up to the twin’s room, Sherlock holding Rachel, and John holding Hamish.  John’s old room had been painted a gray color, and the furniture was all white.  The only pops of color were from the blankets, purple for Rachel, and blue for Hamish.  Two rocking chairs sat across from each other, one black and one gray.   Both men smiled at each other, knowing which one belonged to the other.  

Thankfully, being born is an exhausting process, and Rachel and Hamish were both sleeping.  The two men took their charges back downstairs, settling upon the couch in the sitting room.  The sitting room had been left in its messy state, with their shared desk piled high with papers and files.  Sherlock’s violin sat upon its usual perch, having been forgotten about fifteen hours in lieu of the twin’s birth.  Sherlock smiled at the thought and looked down at Rachel, her small fist holding onto his plum button down shirt.  He was about to offer tea, but when he looked to John he stilled.

John was already asleep, one arm supporting Hamish, the other hand holding Hamish to his chest.  His head was gently laid on Hamish’s head, and there was a small smile on the doctor’s face.  Sherlock felt his breath leave his chest again.   _ I love you. _  Careful to not jostle either John or Hamish, Sherlock scooted closer to them, and leaned against John, keeping Rachel still.  Once he was comfortable, he found himself closing his eyes and joining his best friend and the twins in slumber.


	2. Return

_ Italics: Character thoughts, texts _

**_Bold Italics: Thoughts by character in other_ voices**

**Bold: Truthful or angry thoughts**

...

Weeks turned into months, and soon nearly eleven months had passed since that first day.  Rachel seemed to have taken on Sherlock’s personality, in that she was a very vocal child, and delighted in the unknown.  She was always very curious when it came to hidden things around the flat, or anything outside of the flat.  She could crawl and was already pulling herself to a standing position, which made John uneasy, “She’ll be walking out that front door soon enough!” He would say, to which Sherlock would reply, “Good, she’ll be able to help out at crime scenes!”  Her favorite toy was Sherlock’s violin bow, and she loved to wave it around and hide it from her detective caretaker.

Hamish was a very quiet child, and curious, although not as much as his sister.  He seemed to understand his father’s and Sherlock’s speech, especially when either of them said “No, Hamish!”  Hamish could crawl, and gurgled happily whenever he saw John enter the room.  Like his father, he loved books, and could often be seen with one in hand, after pulling it from the shelf.  His favorite game was to pull on Sherlock’s black curls, which would send him giggling madly when Sherlock retaliated, albeit gently.

Hamish and Rachel were regulars at crime scenes, although John and Sherlock hadn’t had many they had to go to.  Sally Donovan could often be heard saying how inappropriate it was to have the children along, but could be caught with a small smile if she heard Rachel screeching in delight, or Hamish gurgling at someone.  Lestrade was happy to hold both babes, and allowed Hamish to hold his badge.  Rachel liked to hear Lestrade talk to her.  After crime scenes, Rachel and Hamish would alternate between going with Sherlock to the lab, where Molly had a small part of the room gated off, so that the twins could explore the many toys she kept there; or going with John to Mrs. Hudson’s, for tea and milk and sweets.  Both Mrs. Hudson and Molly adore Rachel and Hamish.  But then, not many who meet the babes don’t fall in love right away.

John and Sherlock’s lives had changed, but into something quiet and natural.  Yes, they still had crime scenes and the occasional adventure, but now instead of looking for the trouble, they looked after Rachel and Hamish.  Instead of all-nighters spent agonizing over clues, they spent late nights reading and playing with the babes.  Things that used to make Sherlock roll his eyes, now made him laugh.  Things that used to worry John, still worried him, but less so, because his life was now in his children.  And Sherlock.  Although that wasn’t a big change.

It was the first week of December that things began to change for the worse.  Again, it started with a text.  Sherlock had just put Hamish and Rachel down for a nap, and had moved to return to his examination of minerals he had replicated from a cold case file.  He had just lowered his eyes over the scope when his phone buzzed.  He gave a sigh and lifted his head to look at the text.

_ Nearly a year… How long until mummy returns, and you’re again out of the picture? _

Sherlock’s heart felt as if it lived in his stomach.   _ How?   _ He paused, before replying.

_ She took her passport, identity, and cash with her.  She has all that is important.  Why would she return?  SH _

A buzz.   _ Oh Sherlock, don’t tell me your domestic has made you like the others.  As your brother would say, You’re a very stupid little boy, aren’t you? _

_ Ah, but if I’m so stupid, how did I outsmart you, Moriarty?  SH _

Another buzz, so soon.   _ Very good, Sherlock!  Didn’t forget our chat by the pool, did you?  Last time will seem boring compared to our new game.  Toodles. _

Sherlock knew the conversation was over, and also knew that it wouldn’t be the last text.   _ Sweet of him, really.  To warn me. _  He scrolled through his menu, looking for Mycroft’s conversation.

_ Moriarty and I just had a conversation.  SH _

_ Really?  Discussing plans for Saturday dinner?  MH _

_ Not quite, although plans seem to have been made for a game.  SH _

_ Understood.  Anything else?  MH _

_ Mary’s coming back.  SH _

A pause, then:   _ Ah.  I did warn you, Sherlock.  MH _

_ Sod off.  SH _   With that, Sherlock flipped the phone closed harshly, then stood, going to the twin’s room.  Once there, he stood at the door, staring at their cribs.   _ Breathe.  It’s alright.   _ He moved forward and gazed upon the twins.  Rachel was lying in peace, but Hamish was making his normal gurgling and cooing.  Sherlock smiled fondly.   _ He’ll be the first to talk.  And listen.  Rachel is too strong willed to listen...  I suppose she got that from her mother…  _ **Damn Mary.** _ What do I tell John? _

He could feel his face crumpling, and he was suddenly thankful that John wasn’t here.   _ Breathe. _  His cheek was wet, and he gave a great sigh.  He looked down at the babes, and found Hamish staring at him.  He was very much like his father in this moment, for his look was searching.  He could almost hear John’s voice.   **_What is it, Sherlock?_ **  The next moment, Hamish’s face crumpled, and he was crying too.  Sherlock gave a soft sigh.

“Oh, Hamish.”  He reached in the crib and picked him up.  “Don’t worry, my boy.  It’s alright… Ol’ Sherlock is just being silly.”  He murmured, and scowled, as the tears kept coming.  Hamish mirrored him, and kept crying.  This roused his sister, and Rachel used the bars of her crib to help her stand.  She stared up at Sherlock and Hamish, watching for a moment.  Then, her face too crumpled.  “Oh, Rachel, not you too.”  Sherlock murmured.

He shifted Hamish to his right side, and reached for Rachel, her arms outstretched.  Once she was in his arms, Sherlock walked slowly to his chair, starting to rock them.  He hummed a Mozart concerto, effectively calming himself.  He was happy to see that it calmed the infants as well, and they were left sniffling and holding onto his shirt.  “How do you think Dad will react if he comes home to us all a sobbing mess?”  Sherlock murmured to them, kissing each of their foreheads.  “Should I tell you a story?”  At this both Rachel and Hamish looked at him, Rachel shrieking in delight and Hamish gurgling.  He smiled.  

“Very well.  There once was a very brave knight.  He came home from a war with a far off land, injured and scared.  He was sad and alone, but one day, he met a friend.  A prince who loved music and adventures.”  He changed his voice, and the twins gurgled in unison.  “The prince saved the knight from being alone.  But the knight didn’t know he also saved the prince.  For the prince was a nasty and mean prince.  Thanks to the knight, the prince learned something new.  Hope.”  He paused, thinking of John.   _ Oh John… _

“The knight and prince had many adventures, but perhaps the best one included twins.”  Hamish had wide eyes, watching him, and Rachel giggled.  Sherlock grinned, feeling his heart swell.  “Yes, just like you.  Except these twins were bear cubs.  The prince and knight took these bears for their own, and loved them and taught them about their adventures.  To this day, the bears and the prince and the knight are still together.  Still having adventures.”  The twins giggled at him, and laid upon his chest.  “I know… I interrupted you nap.  Perhaps I’ll tell you more of this story later.”  He kept rocking them, listening to their soft breathing.   _ I hope our story continues. _

…

John found himself able to come home early from surgery and was desperately grateful.  One of his fellow doctors had been out sick, so he had been pulling doubles, and it had been a couple days since he had properly spoken to Sherlock, or seen his children.  Before making it to the flat, he stopped for some biscuits for Sherlock, knowing the detective probably hadn’t eaten much while he was at work.  When he entered the flat, he placed his case by the door, and hung his coat, looking about the flat.  Sherlock was nowhere to be found, but his phone was upon the table next to his microscope.  He heard the twins crying, and he hurried up the stairs.  

When he had made the landing, the twins were quiet, and Sherlock was humming softly to them, and murmuring something to them that John didn’t hear.  But then he heard, “Should I tell you a story?”  John smiled, for Rachel and Hamish loved when Sherlock talked to them, and especially loved his stories.  He listened at the door, not wanting to interrupt.

“Very well.  There once was a very brave knight.  He came home from a war with a far off land, injured and scared.  He was sad and alone, but one day, he met a friend.  A prince who loved music and adventures.”  He changed his voice, and the twins gurgled in unison.  John felt his face light up. 

“The prince saved the knight from being alone.  But the knight didn’t know he also saved the prince.  For the prince was a nasty and mean prince.  Thanks to the knight, the prince learned something new.  Hope.”  He paused here, and John felt his breath leave his chest.   _ Oh Sherlock… _  “The knight and prince had many adventures, but perhaps the best one included twins.”  John heard Rachel giggle, and John couldn’t stop his heart from swelling.  “Yes, just like you.  Except these twins were bear cubs.  The prince and knight took these bears for their own, and loved them and taught them about their adventures.  To this day, the bears and the prince and the knight are still together.  Still having adventures.”  The twins giggled at Sherlock, and John heard the rocking chair start moving again.  “I know… I interrupted you nap.  Perhaps I’ll tell you more of this story later.”  Sherlock said quietly, continuing to rock them.  John could hear their soft breathing, and he smiled.   _ Great work, detective. _

He took a deep breath and gently pushed the door open.  Sherlock looked up in shock, and John raised his hand in greeting.  “Hi, they let me out early.”  He whispered.  Sherlock nodded, looking back down to Rachel and Hamish.  Perhaps John was imagining it, but there seemed to be a longing there.   _ What is it, Sherlock?  Let me help. _  “Want help?”  He found himself asking, and Sherlock looked up again, confused.  John giggled softly,  “I mean with the babes.  Shall we put them back to bed?”  Sherlock nodded again, watching as John came forward.  John leaned forward, reaching for Rachel, who seemed determined to stay with Sherlock.  Her fists were closed around his black shirt, almost in a death grip.  John looked at Sherlock, confused.  The detective gave a small shrug, and John tried again.  John and Sherlock were very close to each other, and once John had Rachel secure in his arms, Sherlock touched John’s arm.

“I’m glad you’re home.”  He said, his voice soft.  John felt his eyebrows contract.   _ Sherlock… Something’s wrong.  Tell me. _ **_It must be something big.  Better to talk downstairs._ **

“Did they run you ragged today?”  John asked, standing and going to Rachel’s crib.  Sherlock stood, and put Hamish in his crib.  As he lay Rachel down, he stared down at her.  Many days, he could see Mary in her, but he was happy to see more of himself now, as she slept.  He felt Sherlock come and stand next to him.  He looked up, and Sherlock was staring at him, something strange upon his face.  John didn’t look away, for he was trying to place the feeling he was getting.   _ What is it?  Fear?  Anxiety?  Anger… no… What? _  He couldn’t figure it out.  He cleared his throat.  “Tea?”  He whispered.  Sherlock nodded, sweeping from the room.  John followed, feeling helpless.

…

As John made the tea, Sherlock returned to his seat in the kitchen.  His phone had been returned to his pocket, and Sherlock was fiddling with the adjustments on his microscope.  Sherlock said nothing and John knew better than to poke the dragon, as they say.  Sherlock would speak when he was ready.  John pulled a few biscuits out and placed them on a platter, along with sugar and milk, and their two cups.  He poured out their tea, then set it upon the table, between them, reaching for his.  He sipped quietly, checking his phone for the weather for tomorrow.  

“Should we have a birthday party for Rachel and Hamish?”  Sherlock asked, finally sipping his tea.  John choked a little upon his own tea.

“I’m sorry, what?”  He asked, looking at his friend in surprise.  

“A party, for their first birthday.  They only turn one once, you know.”  Sherlock replied, taking a biscuit.  He smiled at John, and took a bite.   _ Okay… Definitely something wrong. _

“We can look into it…”  John trailed off, watching Sherlock.  The detective gave him another smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.  “Okay, Sherlock.  What is it?”  His best friend feigned ignorance. 

“What is what?”  He asked, taking another bite.

“What’s wrong?  What has got you acting like-” John paused, trying to find the right word.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“Like what?”  He asked, his voice becoming defensive.  John glared at him.

“Oh come on!  Like this,” He gestured to his posture.  It looked slumped and ragged, but Sherlock probably couldn’t tell the difference.

“What does ‘this’ exactly entail, John?”  Sherlock asked, his voice angry.   _ Oh brilliant, I’ve insulted him. _  John sighed, and shook his head.

“You just look…”  He locked eyes with Sherlock, and saw the emotion he had seen in the children’s bedroom.   _ Defeated. _  He thought suddenly.  

“Defeated?”  Sherlock repeated.   _ Shit. _  John thought.  Apparently, his brain had no filter to his mouth.  Sherlock was opening his mouth to retort.   _ Quick, say something, idiot. _

“Okay, yes, defeated!”  John said suddenly.  Sherlock shut his mouth with a snap.  “Ever since I’ve come home today, you look like a wounded little deer.  Tell me what is on your mind.”  Sherlock turned away, folding his hands in front of him.  John reached forward, laying his hand over Sherlock’s.  “Please.”

Sherlock looked up at him, his gaze back to its calculating look he usually wore.  There was a beat or two of silence, then Sherlock quietly asked, “If Mary were to return… Would you and Rachel and Hamish move into a flat with her?  Would you…” He paused as if it was painful to say, “Would you take her back?”  He whispered.  John felt his heart plummet.  Even at the very thought of her back in his life, it was enough to make him sick.  But a little voice in his head reasoned,  _ the twins deserve to know their mother. _ **Even if she is a lying and deceitful…**

“No, Sherlock.”  John said, and the detective looked up at him in surprise.  He continued in what he hoped was a softer voice.  “Of course not, you idiot.  Maybe, if she were to return, and even wanted anything to do with Rachel and Hamish, I would consider giving her a chance.  They deserve a chance to know their mother.”  Sherlock nodded once, and looked away again.  “That would not mean that I want to know her again.  It would take a lot for me to even consider letting her back into their lives.  I mean in the league of an act of God, before I could trust her.”  John said, and when Sherlock didn’t look up, he squeezed the detective’s hand.  “Hey, remember?  The two of us against the world.”  Sherlock finally looked at him, smiling a true smile.

“Yes.  The two of us.”  He looked down to John’s hand, and John laughed, removing his hand.  Sherlock laughed too.  “People may start to talk.”  John shook his head, still smiling.

“I don’t give a damn.”  He replied, standing to clear their cold tea.  He missed Sherlock’s wide smile.

…

The next day, they set out to a bit of shopping.  Molly had invited them and the babes to a Christmas to-do at her flat, and they were instructed to dress up.  John didn’t own a nice tux, and both Rachel and Hamish had grown out of their first dressy clothes.  Sherlock would be the judge of what was acceptable.  And besides, they were going to Angelo’s for lunch, and it had been awhile since Angelo had seen the twins.  They made their first stop and found Rachel’s dress almost immediately.  A small red long-sleeved dress with some white tights was what they decided upon.  Hamish got a white button shirt with a clip on red bowtie and a black pair of trousers.  The sales lady threw in a pair of black suspenders for Hamish and glittery red bows for Rachel.  “They’re so darling!”  She had squealed, which Sherlock politely nodded to, and left the store, carrying Rachel.  John gave a small chuckle and took the bag with his free hand, talking to Hamish as they left the store.

“Sherlock doesn’t appreciate it when girls are simple like that.”  He murmured, smiling as Hamish giggled.

“I don’t appreciate it when  **anyone** is simple like that.”  Sherlock stated, leading John up the street to their next stop.  John was dreading this, he didn’t much like shopping anyway.

“Sherlock, can’t I just borrow a shirt of yours?  It’s only for a couple of hours.”  John whined, hoisting a slipping Hamish up as they entered the shop.

“No, you’re not my size.  Besides, the colors I have will make you look very pale.”  Sherlock said, looking back at him.  John shook his head.

“They make you look pale.” He retorted.  Sherlock grinned.

“Ah, but I’m alabaster anyway, no help for that.”  He stated, plucking a slated gray shirt off the rack, “Now come on, no whining.  You’ll set a bad example for the children.”  John glared at him.

“Yes, because you’re such a shining example for them.”  He argued, taking the shirt, and sitting Hamish down on a seat before making his way to a dressing room.  Sherlock followed with a black pair of dress trousers.  Sherlock didn’t reply, but placed Rachel on a seat next to Hamish, telling them to sit, and handed the trousers to John.

“No, I’m not, but I’m not their dad.”  Sherlock said, winking at him.  John shook his head at him, disbelieving.

“Da Da Da.”  Rachel said.  John and Sherlock whipped their heads to her, eyes wide.

“Dada.”  Hamish repeated.  Sherlock started laughing.  He looked to John, who looked at him bemused.

“I thought Hamish would be first.”  He went to the twins, smiling and praising them.  “Clever Rachel, clever Hamish.  Job well done!”  He said, planting kisses on them.  Soon Rachel and Hamish were giggling.  John smiled at the sight.  Sherlock turned to him, still crouched down.  “John, are you trying those on?”  He asked, arching an eyebrow.  John nodded, and turned into the changing room.  He came out moments later, finding Sherlock sitting with Hamish in his lap and Rachel sitting at his feet.  He had been talking to the children, but looked up when John cleared his throat.  Sherlock looked up, and his mouth opened, but shut almost immediately with a soft snap.  John felt immediately self conscious.

“I don’t know if I like this.”  John said, turning to look in the mirror.  Sherlock stood up, coming to stand by him.  

“No, no, John.  It looks great!  I was just surprised is all…” Sherlock trailed off, looking at John wince in the mirror.  “I only meant… You look good.”  Sherlock stated, quieter.  John looked at him in surprise.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  “Come now, John.  I’m capable of compliments.”  John smiled.

“I know, I just wanted you to admit it was one.”  John said, turning away from the mirror to look up at his friend.  Sherlock gave a fake annoyed huff.

“Now that you’ve laughed at my expense, can we go to lunch?  Or did you want to try another shirt?”  Sherlock asked, arching an eyebrow.  John hurriedly shook his head.

“No, let’s get lunch.”  He turned to go into the changing room, and thought he heard Sherlock say to the babes,

“Dad looked good, didn’t he?”  Rachel and Hamish laughed in return.  John felt his cheeks warm and smiled.

…

The Christmas party was upon them faster than expected, and Sherlock found himself at a loss at what to get John.  He had already gotten the twin’s hands imprinted in a ceramic, through one of their previous clients.  But Sherlock wanted something just for John.  Something that said,  _ I know you, and I understand you. _  Luckily, he found just the thing.

He was pushing the twins in a buggy when they walked by a book shop.  In the window was a brown leather bound journal.  A small sign stated “ _ Engraving available!” _   He smiled, and went in the shop, twins in tow.  After his purchase, he walked out of the shop, gift wrapped box under his arm, and the buggy in front of him.  He was walking back to the flat when his phone buzzed.  He sighed, having an idea of who it was.

_ In need of some writing tools?  I thought you used your website.  MH _

_ It’s a gift.  SH _

_ Indeed, for the doctor?  MH _

_ Is it really your business?  SH _

_ I suppose not.  Be careful, Sherlock.  MH _

_ Of what?  SH _

_ I don’t need to say it, you know.  MH _

Again, Sherlock knew the conversation was over, but he felt as if he could strangle Mycroft.  Now he was unsure of his gift, and the possible message it might portray.   ** _And what message is that?_** _That I love him, of course._ **He isn’t that brilliant.** _But I haven’t been exactly subtle..._ ** _Ah, but he may already know… On some level._** _Sod it._  Sherlock shook his head, clearing his thoughts.  He made it back to 221b, pulling the twins up the few steps to the landing inside.  Mrs. Hudson heard him come in, and peeked her head out.

“Yoo-hoo, Sherlock!  How are you and the wee ones today?”  She asked, bending over to take Rachel out of her seat.  Rachel shrieked at Mrs. Hudson, and the old lady cooed at her.  Sherlock smiled.

“Fine, fine, Mrs. Hudson.  Just finished a small bit of Christmas shopping.  Thanks for picking her up.  Would you mind holding this?”  He asked, holding out John’s present.  She did take it, and examined the packaging, as Sherlock picked up Hamish and started to collapse the buggy.  Really, it was easier when John was here to help.

“Ooh, Sherlock.  This book shop is rather expensive, isn’t it?  I hope you didn’t spend too much, dear.”  Mrs. Hudson murmured the last sentence.  Sherlock looked up at her, a little annoyed.

“No, Mrs. Hudson, and kindly shut up about it.  It’s a present for John.”  He murmured, finally succeeding in collapsing the buggy.  Mrs. Hudson let out a small squeal.

“Oh, Sherlock, he’ll love it!  Sorry, don’t mind me!”  Sherlock had glared at the noise,  “I’ll follow you up with this poppet, shall I?”  She asked, and Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, thank you.”  With that, they ascended the stairs, Mrs. Hudson chatting about a woman from her bridge club.  

…

The night of the Christmas to-do had Sherlock rushing about the apartment.  They were running slightly late,and in addition to trying to reign in Rachel and Hamish, who had taken to pulling themselves up on furniture to walk or climb to their target, John wasn’t home yet.

Sherlock had finally gotten the twins dressed, and was pulling Rachel’s growing hair into a short pony tail for her matching bow to perched on.  John came in, rushing to pull off his coat and put his case down.  Sherlock looked up from his perch on the couch.  “You’re very late.  What kept you?”  He asked, finishing Rachel’s hair.  Once she was free, she crawled to John, screaming “Da!”  John sighed and lifted her up.

“I know, I’m sorry.  I was trying to escape, but one of the nurses wouldn’t stop pestering me for a date.  I nearly had to scream at her.” He paused and looked at Rachel.  “My, don’t you look lovely, my Rachel.”  She smiled and screamed “Da!” Again.  Hamish was sitting on the floor, busy with some toys, but said “Da Da” too. Sherlock laughed at the twins, but couldn’t fight the unease at John’s mention of this nurse.

“And… Are you attracted to her?”  Sherlock asked, walking to his room to gather his things to change.  He heard John scoop up Hamish and follow him with both twins into their shared room.

“She’s pretty, but not much my type.  Besides, I have children to think about.  I don’t want to date someone just randomly.”  John said, placing the twins on his bed.  They wiggled and tried to get down, but John sat with them, holding them still as he started to pull off his shoes.  He looked at Sherlock.  “Why are you interested?”  He asked.  Sherlock cursed inwardly.

“I was just wondering what you said to her, but since she’s not your type, I can guess you told her it wouldn’t happen.”  He stated, gathering his things and going into the bathroom.  Thankfully, John didn’t press the issue, and instead stayed quiet until Sherlock was finished.  When Sherlock came out in his usual black trousers and a dark blue shirt, John looked up, about to speak, but it died on his lips, and instead he gaped.  Sherlock had his back turned for a moment, and it gave John time to recover.   _ Get it together, Watson. _  Sherlock looked at him.  “You better hurry, it’ll be a miracle for us to make it in time.”  John nodded, and stood, gathering his clothes and shoes.  “I’ve already gathered the gifts, and the twin’s bag is packed, so meet me in the sitting room.”  Sherlock said at his back.  John nodded again, and closed the bathroom door.

As he changed, he caught his reflection, and saw that his face was flushed.   _Oh great, as if I could be anymore obvious.  Breathe._  He hurried to button his shirt, and when he changed trousers, he saw that he was a little aroused.   _Jesus.  What is wrong with me?  He’s my best friend!_ **Yes, your very attractive best friend.** _Sod off._  He tucked his dress shirt into his trousers, and splashed a bit of cold water on his face.  After his shoes were on, he ran some product through his hair and sprayed a bit of cologne on.   **Trying to impress him, are you?** _Sod off!_

He met Sherlock in the sitting room as told, and found the twins with coats on, standing next to Sherlock, who had his belstaff on.  The box of gifts sat at his feet, but the twin’s bag was on his shoulder.  Sherlock looked at him, holding out John’s coat to him.  A flush had crept onto the detective’s cheeks, but John realized it could just be the fact he had a coat on inside.  He took his coat from Sherlock, murmuring thanks and put it on.  

They exited the apartment, meeting Mrs. Hudson on the landing.  “Oh, Sherlock!  We’re very late.  The cabbie’s already been waiting ten minutes.”  She scolded, twisting her hands.  She met them up the stairs, and took Hamish, while John took the box of presents, and Sherlock held Rachel and the diaper bag.  

“You can blame me for that, Mrs. Hudson.  I got held up at work.”  John piped, leading them out into the cold.  Sherlock followed silently, thinking about John in his wonderful gray shirt.  Rachel pounded on his shoulder, speaking gibberish, taking him out of his thoughts rather successfully.

…

Molly’s house was decorated grandly.  From her ceiling tinsel hung, there was holly on almost every surface, and her windows were frosted.  In the corner of her sitting room, her Christmas tree stood tall, with reds, golds, and whites among the evergreen branches.  Christmas music twinkled merrily from inside her apartment, and she welcomed them in, along with her fiance Tom.  Mrs. Hudson twittered happily about Molly’s decor, and wandered off with Hamish, leaving Sherlock, Rachel, and John grouped awkwardly by the door with Tom.  Tom offered to take the presents, and left them to hang their coats.  John looked up at Sherlock as they hung their coats, and they both dissolved into giggles.  Rachel looked between them and giggled too.  

“Did Christmas throw up in here, or have we been transported to Christmas Town?”  Sherlock murmured.  John hushed him, still chortling.  They walked into the sitting room, being met by Lestrade, Sally, Anderson and his wife.  Sherlock hid his smirk by fussing over Rachel and putting her in the playpen Molly had spare.  John thought he knew what to expect, and blew out a puff of air.   When Sherlock stood, and locked eyes with him, John tried to give his best stern look.   _ Sherlock, play nice. _   Sherlock responded by giving him a smirk and a wink.  John felt his face redden.   _ Can’t resist showing off, can you? _

Thankfully, Molly came back into the sitting room, followed by Mrs. Hudson, Hamish and Tom.  John came forward to take Hamish and put him in the playpen with Rachel.  Molly started offering drinks, and Tom set out several plates with crackers, cheeses, meats, and sweets.  Lestrade moved over to the twins, talking to them in his deep voice.  John thought Sally looked a little green, but he wondered if she was just upset with Anderson and his wife, who were now sharing sickly sweet kisses.  Sherlock was talking to Tom, and being very polite, which made him smile.  Mrs. Hudson and Molly approached him, and he nodded in greeting.

“Hello, Molly.  Everything looks just great.  Wonderful party!”  John said, and Molly giggled nervously.  

“You really think so?  Thanks.  I was just asking Mrs. Hudson why you lot turned up late, she said it had something to do with work.  Did you get held up in Surgery?”  Molly asked, very interested.  John smiled and shook his head.  _  She’s always asking about my work, it must get exhausting to work on cadavers exclusively. _

“No, actually, it was a nurse pestering me for a date.  I almost had to scream at her to get my point across, although I still don’t know if I made my point.”  John said, flicking his eyes to Sherlock.  He saw that Sherlock was looking at him, but shook it off, and returned his gaze to Molly and Mrs. Hudson.

“And did you let her know the situation, dear?”  Mrs. Hudson asked, taking a sip of wine.

“Ah… What situation, Mrs. Hudson?”  John asked, and Molly flicked her eyes to Mrs. Hudson, before answering for her.

“The twins, of course.”  Molly said, smiling.  John nodded, shrugging.

“I think everyone at the clinic knows it.  Honestly, I probably have the least amount of hours of anyone there, because of Rachel and Hamish.  I’m not complaining of course!”  John said, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson smiled.

“Of course not, dear.  Children do take our time.”  Mrs. Hudson said.  Molly sighed happily.

“And you do such a wonderful job with them!  I think we can all agree on that.”  She took a sip of wine and John looked to Sherlock again.

“I wouldn’t be able to do it without Sherlock.  Not only does he help around the house and care for them when I’m gone, but he is very doting.  I think he loves them as much as I do.”  John murmured.  Mrs. Hudson nodded, saying,

“I noticed it, too.  He has changed a little, and I think he truly enjoys Rachel and Hamish.”  The older woman looked to Sherlock too, before turning to John again.  “The babes are turning one soon, aren’t they?  Are you holding a party for them?”  This caught Molly’s attention again, and she squealed.

“Oh, please!  I’d love to decorate for it, if you’ll have me!”  Molly looked as if she couldn’t hold in the excitement.  John laughed.

“Of course.  January 4th is their birthday--”  He was interrupted by Sally rushing past them, and accidentally brushing John on her way to the bathroom.  They heard retching, and Molly excused herself to go check on her.  Mrs. Hudson went off to talk to Lestrade, and John went to help himself to a few crackers and cheese slices.  

“I think she may be pregnant.”  Came a murmur in his ear, causing John to jump.  He turned and looked at Sherlock.  He was looking in the direction Sally had disappeared.  John looked too, then looked at Sherlock again.  

“And your proof?”  John murmured, taking a sip of wine.  Sherlock held up three fingers, and ticked them off.

“Being sick, after trying some of the meat; her drink of choice tonight is sparkling water; and her abdomen is slightly enlarged.”  Sherlock whispered in quick succession.  John choked on his wine at the last part.

“You were examining her abdomen?!”  He coughed out, trying to stay quiet.  Luckily, Lestrade had just told a joke that had everyone laughing.  Sherlock nodded seriously.

“Just for the sake of science.”  He said.  John shook his head.

“Listen, Sherlock.  This isn’t your deduction to share.”  Sherlock opened his mouth, and John continued, “Yes, I know you made the deduction, thus it is yours. Really, job well done.  But don’t tell anyone.  Sally probably doesn’t want you to share it.”  Sherlock closed his mouth with a snap, but smiled a small smile.

“You really think I did a job well done?”  He asked.  John rolled his eyes, smiling at him.

“You always do. Now come on, people will start to talk if we stay over here by ourselves too long.” He walked over to the group and chanced a look at the twins, and found them content with bottles and their toys.  He smiled and looked to Sherlock, murmuring, “Thank you for taking care of them.” Sherlock smiled and said nothing.

When they joined the group, they found that Sally had returned, and was looking much better.  Molly suggested a game of ball transfer, and looked at Sherlock in particular when she said, “And everyone will play.” 

There was a lot of giggling once the game started.  Even Rachel and Hamish couldn't take their eyes off the adults making a spectacle of themselves.  Mrs. Hudson started, with the small red ball tucked under her chin and walked slowly to Lestrade, the detective inspector bending down to retrieve the ball.  The game went on, and soon it was a challenge to see who could do it faster.  Sally passed to Sherlock who used one hand to gesture to John, who hastened to get in position.  They quickly passed, but not without John smelling Sherlock's after shave and noting the detective's flush.  He himself felt warm, but passed the ball to Molly as quick as possible.

After a few rounds, it was between John, Sherlock, and Lestrade, all men red in the face, but guffawing at each other.  They had switched direction and John was passing to Sherlock, which was a feat in itself, and it caused John to blow air out of his mouth in frustration.  He had thought Sherlock had it, but it quickly slipped and fell to the floor.  The ladies let out peels of laughter, and Sherlock looked at John with a quick calculated look, that John was sure only he noticed.  

Christmas dinner was served then, Rachel and Hamish joining them at the table for small servings of soft foods.  They were halfway through pudding and many conversations when Sherlock's phone began to buzz.  He looked at the screen, curious, and them to John before rising quickly to answer it.  “Oh, Sherlock! It's Christmas dinner!” Mrs. Hudson scolded after him.

He wasn't gone long, and when he returned, his eyes were wide.  John rose from his chair, staring at him.  “Sherlock?” The detective turned his gaze to him, then turned to Molly.  All eyes were upon the detective now, and conversations quieted.

“I'm sorry, Molly for the interruption, but I need to turn on the news.” He stated, and turned back into the sitting room.  John looked to Lestrade, who stood and followed him into the sitting room. Soon the party was gathered around the television with varied degrees of horror on their faces.  A newscaster woman was speaking over pictures of St. Mary's in flames and an orphanage also in flames.

“Both the hospital and orphanage were struck earlier this evening by bombs.  Officials are speculating random acts of violence…”  The footage cut back to the woman, and she continued to speak of safety warnings and the tally of injured or dead.  122.

At that number, John looked to Sherlock, who was staring at his feet.  His mouth seemed to be snarling and he seemed to be talking to himself.  John looked back to the set and heard the information he was afraid to hear.  Many injured were being routed to his clinic.  He sighed and looked to Sherlock again, who had looked up.

“I have to go help them.” John said, knowing Sherlock would hate it.  Sherlock looked away, nodding.

John said hasty goodbyes to everyone before grabbing his coat.  He kissed the children and was almost out the door when Sherlock's soft voice stopped him.  “Be careful, John.”

He turned back and met Sherlock's eyes, giving a nod.  “I will.”

…

It was many hours later that John made his way back into the apartment.  He saw Sherlock's coat hanging, but there was no sign of him in the sitting room or kitchen.  He quietly opened their bedroom door, and didn't find him there either.  He quickly changed out of his now smokey and bloodied clothes, into his bed clothes, along with his robe.  He wandered up the stairs, hoping Sherlock was in the twin's room. He was starting to worry.

When he opened the door, he did find Sherlock, staring at the cribs, but no twins.  John felt his stomach plummet.  “Sherlock, where are Rachel and Hamish?”  He asked.  Sherlock turned slowly to him.

“I had to send them away.” He murmured.  John was shocked to see tears upon the detective's face.   _ Fear… panic… defeat. _  John felt anger swell inside him, but was horrified to find that it was tears spilling from him, instead of screaming.

“What? Why? Where, Sherlock? We have to go!”  He found himself saying, and moving to the door.  Sherlock looked as if it pained him, but he quickly moved between John and the door.  

“We can't.  They're in danger if they stay here.” Sherlock said in a pleading voice.  John lost his patience and grabbed handfuls of Sherlock's shirt, coming too close to his face.

“Stop it.  Stop it now, and tell me what's going on.”  He growled out, and more tears fell down Sherlock's face.

“Moriarty.”  Was all he said, and John felt the breath leave his chest.   _ The bombing… _

“A message?” John rasped out, tightening his hold on Sherlock's shirt.  The black haired man nodded, looking down.

“I'm sorry, John.  It's all my fault.” He mumbled out, bringing his hands to John's.  He looked up, and their eyes locked.  John shook his head.

“No. No, Sherlock, it is not your fault.” He pushed away from Sherlock, and began to pace.  “Fucking Moriarty!” He burst out suddenly, kicking his rocking chair.  Sherlock came forward then and gathered John in his arms.

“I'm sorry, John.  I'm so sorry.” Sherlock said again and again.  They sank to the floor and stayed in each other's embrace into the early hours of the morning.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Ridiculous

**Six Months Before**

 

It had been a rough almost four months.  John and Sherlock were running on only a few hours of sleep most days, and twins didn’t yet have a set schedule of sleeping, and seemed to delight in being awake during the early morning hours.  They had begun to take a bit of cereal with their milk and could hold onto different toys by themselves.  Hamish in fact loved to grab onto Sherlock’s curls and not let go.  It was often only with John’s help could Sherlock be untangled from Hamish.  Rachel on the other hand delighted in pulling on John’s short locks or his ear, or even sometimes his nose.  

 

It was a very stormy night in late March that John found himself alone with screaming twins, while Sherlock was out for the NSY.  He had tried everything, diaper changing, feeding, playing, and reading stories.  He had even tried a bath, which usually guaranteed a calm evening.  Nothing doing for Hamish and Rachel.  John was at his wits end.

 

“What did I do, babies, huh?  What’s wrong?”  He asked, trying to shush and coo at the same time.  Rachel was in his left arm, squirming and wailing, and Hamish was in his right arm still, but crying all the same.  “Oh,  _ come on _ !”  He whispered desperately.  As if in answer to John’s whisper, Sherlock burst through the door, causing John to whip around towards him.

 

“Christ… Did you pinch them?”  Sherlock asked, smiling a little at John, before turning to take off his belstaff.  John glared at him, but when Sherlock was looking at him again, his look turned pleading.

 

“Please, I need your help.  Please.”  John murmured, and Sherlock stared at him for a moment.  John knew he was being deduced, but he was so exhausted that he couldn’t bring himself to care.  When Sherlock nodded, John sighed in relief.  “Will you please try your violin?”  He paused, as Sherlock moved for his instrument.  “I’ve tried changing, feeding, reading to them, I’ve even given them baths, which was no easy feat at the same time, let me tell you.  Rachel seemed to calm down after I read, but Hamish hated all of it, which made Rachel cry again.”  Sherlock had tuned the violin while John babbled, and when he paused for breath, Sherlock began to play with a flourish.  John recognized the melody, but couldn’t place the sorrowful notes, and the octave jumps were particularly heart wrenching.  Rachel and Hamish quieted, but tears were still leaking out of their little blue eyes.  When Sherlock entered the last few bars of the piece, John was watching wide eyed.   _ I’d forgotten how he looks when he plays.  As if he should always be playing… As if it were what he was born to do.   _ **_Brilliant… Beautiful._ **

 

Sherlock finished the song, and his eyes stayed closed, as if living in the last note.  He slowly lowered his violin and opened his eyes, only to see John gaping at him.  Sherlock smiled a small smile, but the twins took this moment of quiet to start crying again.  Sherlock put down his violin and reached to take Rachel from John’s arms.  For a moment, John and Sherlock stood close together, with the twins sandwiched between them.  In that moment, the doctor looked up at the detective, and he felt his tongue dart across his lips, anxiety ruling him.  Sherlock paused in his movement of taking the girl and stared down at the doctor.  The twins had quieted, and were now staring up at the two men.  This caused John to look down at them.

 

“They’ve stopped crying.”  John said, and he looked back up to Sherlock, smiling a tired smile.  Sherlock smiled back, and John in his exhaustion didn’t notice the flush that had begun to sneak up the detective’s neck.  Sherlock took Rachel up in his arms, and was beginning to back away from John when Hamish started crying again.  “No, oh  _ come  _ on.”  John murmured, and Sherlock moved back towards John.  Immediately the infants quieted again.  Sherlock huffed a laugh.

 

“The little beggars…”  He murmured, and John looked at him, irritated.

 

“So they missed you.  Right, well come on.”  John said, and he tugged on Sherlock’s sleeve, going to their bedroom.  Sherlock was confused, but kept quiet.

 

Once in their room, John went to Sherlock’s slightly larger bed and pulled back the covers with one hand, laying Hamish down first.  Sherlock watched from a few feet away, and was astounded when John crawled into his bed too.  “John! What-”  He began, but John shut him up with a look.

 

“Get in this bed.  I am positively knackered and I am in no mood to fight you, persuade you, or drug you.  Just come here with Rachel, so I can sleep.”  John stated, and kicked off his slippers, before laying down on the left side.  Sherlock pursed his lips, but laid Rachel down next to Hamish, before unbuttoning his shirt and going for his pajamas.  In his absence, the twins began to fuss again, and John hummed the melody the detective had played.

 

Once changed, Sherlock came back to the bed, gingerly crawling in.  Once he had settled, Rachel and Hamish both started cooing and looking at him.  Sherlock looked over them at John and saw the doctor had a blissful smile upon his face.  The two men laid on their sides, facing each other, and looking down at the babies.  After a few minutes the babies quieted, and they stared at the ceiling.  It wasn’t long before they were sleeping, and Sherlock looked over at John to see him staring at him.  The doctor grinned tiredly at him.

 

“Sorry… Told you I’m knackered.”  He yawned, and shifted slightly.  Sherlock only nodded, turning to turn out the bedside lamp.  The detective settled again, thinking of John’s scent, his impossible blue eyes, and his tongue across his lips.  He gave a sigh, and was surprised when John asked, “What was the piece you played?”

 

Sherlock wanted to pretend he was asleep, but felt that John wouldn’t ask again.   _ And I want him to know…  _ **I need him to know it was for him.**  “O Mio Babbino Caro.  It’s a popular soprano aria.”  Sherlock murmured, recalling the words.  “Lauretta begs her father to let her go and buy a ring, so that she may be with her beloved… She threatens to throw herself into the river if he doesn’t.”  John gave a tired chuckle.

 

“What a ridiculous woman,”  John murmured, settling further into Sherlock’s bed.  Sherlock found himself thinking,  _ If only I could be the bed…   _ **_Ridiculous._ **

 

“Yes… Ridiculous,”  Sherlock murmured back, listening as John’s soft breathing, telling him that the doctor was asleep.

 

**Present Day**

The sitting room had been dedicated to red string and pictures again.  A few days went by with minimal speech from John and Sherlock.  The only spoke words were “Tea?, Morning, Afternoon, John.”  Sherlock threw himself into case files that Mycroft had brought, and John took multiple shifts at surgery.  John was unspeakably angry that Sherlock had made the decision to send the twins away.  John couldn’t bring himself to speak to Sherlock, let alone say his name.

 

On the fourth day, John left for surgery, with no trace of Sherlock in the flat.  He breathed a sigh of relief and went about his day.  It was dark when he returned, and John could tell something was off when he entered the landing downstairs.  He knew Mrs. Hudson had gone on holiday (no doubt at Sherlock’s suggestion), but her door was ajar, and he could see that some of her dishes had been smashed upon the floor.  He quickly did a sweep, only to find no evidence of the burglar.  John thought he knew where the perp was headed and who the target was, and looked to the ceiling, listening.   _ No sound… odd. _  John walked out of Mrs. Hudson’s flat, looking up the stairs.   _ Is Sherlock still out?  What has he been doing? _

 

John started up the stairs, gripping his case and hoping the burglar was already subdued or even gone.   _I’m in no mood to fight anyone._ **Except maybe Sherlock.** ** _Oh, but then you wouldn’t be able to hear his brilliant theories._** **Shut up.**

 

His heart dropped when he made the landing, for the door was swung wide, and he saw an indent in the frame.  Upon closer inspection, he could see red upon the wood, and a few hairs stuck between the splinters.   _ Cor… Hopefully those aren’t Sherlock’s. _  He entered the flat, taking in the devastation. 

 

Sherlock’s mind map was ripped from the wall, and pieces of it were strewn all around the sitting room.  Sherlock’s violin was also away from its usual perch, though thankfully in one piece.  His bow and music however, were in strips upon the floor.  A window was smashed from the inside, and John winced, for the hole was big enough for a head.  He turned slightly, and found books and pictures on the floor as well.  When he finally turned enough towards the kitchen, he was gasping and dropping his case.  “Sherlock!”

 

Among broken dishes and emptied cabinets, Sherlock lay upon his side, one arm underneath him at an odd angle, then the other laid upon the floor.  His face was very pale and blood stained.  His eyes were wide and unseeing.  Blood dripped from his nose and gathered upon the floor, and John couldn’t help as his mind travelled back to the fall.  “Oh, god.  God, no.”  John could hear himself say, although it sounded alien.  His breath was coming in and out with short bursts, and he saw it.  Bart’s roof, Sherlock standing at the edge, the wet pavement, and Sherlock’s voice in his ear.   **_It’s what people do...Leave a note… It’s just a magic trick…_ **   He recalled how his heart was hammering, much as it was now, and how when Sherlock jumped, everything seemed to stop.

 

He moved forward, much like that day, and reached for the free wrist.  His hands shook and he murmured his mantra of “God, no.” over and over.  He finally grasped the wrist properly and breathed in deep to silence himself.  He was bent over, one knee touched the ground, when he heard the crunching of footsteps behind him.  He stiffened, and let go of Sherlock, standing abruptly and turning so he could face his attacker.  His eyes were blurry from tears, and he swung blindly, satisfied that after two hits he had connected with a body.  He was shocked when he heard Mycroft’s voice say, “John!  John!”

 

John stilled, and then crumpled, his tears dropping down his face.  Mycroft gripped him, holding his arms, and murmuring small words of comfort.   _ I couldn’t feel a pulse… No breathing… He’s gone.   _ **And I didn’t tell him.  Again.** **_Shut up… Shut up! SHUT UP!_ **

 

“John!”  Mycroft’s voice cut into his thoughts.  Apparently John had shouted, and Mycroft was gripping his arms forcefully.  “Not here.”  The bureaucrat murmured, and John felt a sharp prick in his neck.  His consciousness was slipping and he found his legs shaking.  He gripped Mycroft’s jacket in front of him.

 

“God… N-no.”  He heard his own voice, and then knew darkness.

…

 

John awoke sitting in metal chair, restraints around his wrists.   _ Brilliant. _ **Fucking Mycroft.** **_But was it Mycroft?  You were a little distraught_ ** **.  Try a lot distraught.** _ Fuck off.   _ John gave his head a slight shake, and he took in his surroundings.  A two-way mirror in front of him, in a small white room with no light.   _ Fuck _ .   _ Captured?  Routine by Mycroft?  What the actual-? _

 

He was taken out of his musings when a door opened behind him.  Heels clicked as they walked towards him and came to a stop behind him.   _ A woman? Anthea?  Or someone else? _  He tensed as soft hands caressed his neck, then came to settle on his shoulders.  The hands moved down his chest, nails painted black and fingers long, they scraped at his clothing, and he felt his tension double.  The owner of these long fingers leaned next to his ear whispering huskily, “Oh, doctor, what shall I do to you?”  John stared at down at the hands, his mind slowly working.   _ Those hands… a familiar scar on the index finger… Slight tremor in both hands… _ **_It couldn’t be.  He wouldn’t._ **

 

John looked ahead to the two-way mirror, seeing a tall woman with long dark hair.  He couldn’t see her face, but saw she was wearing all black, goth type clothes that he saw a lot of the kids wear around London.  John also saw that someone had dyed his hair to black, and he was now noticing he had a black eye, as well as a long scar down the side of his face.  He knew that someone had used makeup to make his face look different.  He looked back to the woman in the reflection to the mirror, thinking hard.  He felt a small smile light his face, and gave a small jerk of his head, causing the woman to come closer.

 

“Do you know any magic tricks?”  He murmured.  John thought he could hear a huff of laughter from the woman and watched as she came around him, standing in front of the two-way mirror.  She didn’t move, from what John could tell, but suddenly the room was bathed in light and the woman turned back to him, and John finally looked into her face.  Well,  _ his _ face.  

 

Sherlock Holmes was dressed in drag, but fantastically so, for John felt he only could tell because he knew the detective so well.  Sherlock was staring at him, and John couldn’t describe the feeling filling him.   _ Anxiety… Fear… Panic… _  John opened his mouth again, and Sherlock rushed forward, putting a finger to his mouth, and leaning his mouth to the doctor’s ear.

 

“Listen carefully, thirty seconds.  I faked my death again, after letting Moriarty’s men see me get into trouble with some drug dealers.  Mycroft followed you home to ensure you had seen me, and that Moriarty had seen you enter.  Mycroft then came up with our cover story, and disguises, which I will explain when we’re alone.”  John shivered, for Sherlock’s voice had changed on the word  _ alone _ , and the detective hastened to continue, “For now, go along with the briefing you’re about to receive.  Five seconds.”  Sherlock moved away from him and came to stand in front of the two-way mirror again, fixing his face back to indifference.  John gave himself an internal shake, sitting a little straighter.  He watched in the mirror, seeing the door open, and a man with sunglasses and suit come in, holding a blank folder.  He looked to Sherlock again, and thought,  _ Into battle. _

…

 

Several hours later found Sherlock and John sitting across from the other on matching beds, in a far off hotel room, staring at the other man.  Sherlock had taken off the wig and tossed it disdainfully on the floor behind him, but still kept the gothic garb on, complete with knee-high black boots.  John would have laughed if his disguise wasn’t as equally ridiculous.  Leather jacket with a white tee underneath, and jeans as tight as his school days.  He also wore black boots that reminded him of his issued ones in the army.  _ What am I supposed to be?  A greaser? _  He felt like laughing, but thought if he started, he may never stop.   _ This whole thing is ridiculous. _

 

Mycroft’s plan was for John to infiltrate Moriarty’s men, in way of a double agent.  Sherlock was to, because he was so known by Moriarty, blend in in some company as an IT worker, in his disguise, and find Moriarty’s accounts and hack into them.  According to Mycroft’s calculations, it would take at least two years.   _ Too long.  What about Hamish and Rachel? _

 

This brought Sherlock and John back to their room, where they faced one another, staring at the other.  They had been in silence since being ushered into the room, which was being watched by Mycroft’s team.  Rain had begun to pellet outside, and John wagered the rain was enough to muffle their voices.  He stood for the first time in hours, and swept about the room, looking for Mycroft’s bugs and cameras.  When he was satisfied, he sat again in front of Sherlock, opening his mouth.  As usual, the detective beat him to the punch.

 

“John.”  It came as a whisper, and his lips trembled a bit.  John forced himself to breathe, trying to settle his face into calm.  He knew from the tension in his muscles that he must have been wearing his Captain’s face.  He clenched his hands into fists upon his knees.

 

“I thought you were dead.”  John whispered back.  He felt his eyes water, and the picture in his mind’s eye again.  “How could you-?”  He was interrupted by Sherlock moving forward to come and sit beside John on the bed.

 

“I had to.  To get Mycroft to agree to help.  I had to agree to his terms, so that I… So that we…”  Sherlock stopped his murmurs, and reached a hand to John’s face, making the doctor meet his eyes.  “It’s my fault, for coming back.  I’ve endangered you again.  And Rachel and Hamish.  I had to agree to Mycroft’s terms so that he could give me the materials needed to be rid of Moriarty once and for all.”  Sherlock had tears in his eyes, and John recalled the  _ defeated _ man he had came home to many days before.  “I can’t let Rachel and Hamish be separated from their father for two years.”  Sherlock whispered, lowering his hand.  John turned towards the detective, taking his hand.

 

“We won’t let that happen.”  John whispered.  “They need their Sherlock too.”  The detective gave a soft gasp, a tear falling.  John raised his other hand to the detective’s cheek, wiping away the moisture.  John stared into his eyes, willing his face to convey hope, even though he wasn’t sure he was feeling any.  Sherlock’s seemingly dead body swam before his vision again, and he closed his eyes, taking in a shaky breath.  “I can’t let you leave us.  Please don’t do that to us.  To me.”  He opened his eyes when he felt Sherlock’s breath upon his cheek.

 

The detective had leaned closer, and John could see the tears that lingered upon his eyelashes.  “I’m never leaving you again.”  Sherlock whispered, his hand reaching for John.  The tremor was back in his hand.  John reached for Sherlock too,  _ I have to tell him… I have to make sure he knows. _

 

“Sherlock,”  John whispered, reaching to the detective as well, licking his lips and looking to the other man’s mouth.  “Sherlock… I should have told you… I always wanted to tell you-” Sherlock interrupted him with a bruising kiss, bringing a whimper from the doctor.  The detective gripped his jacket tightly, deepening the kiss, bringing their tongues crashing together.  John broke the kiss briefly to crawl into Sherlock’s lap, causing a quiet moan to come from both of them.

 

“John… I’ve wanted this… I’ve wanted you-”  John shushed him, staring deep into his eyes.

 

“It’s fine… It’s all fine.”  John whispered, kissing him again.   _ I can’t…   Too much…  We’ve waited too long. _  John was reaching behind Sherlock, unzipping the black dress his ridiculous friend was wearing.  At the though,t he laughed a little into the kiss.  Sherlock huffed a laugh as well.

 

“Not my best disguise, I admit.”  Sherlock whispered, shucking off John’s jacket, and letting John lift the dress above Sherlock’s head.  Thankfully, Sherlock wasn’t wearing any women’s undergarments, for he thought he would dissolve into hysteric giggles if that were the case.  He ran his hands down the detective’s chest, kissing him again.  Sherlock was tugging at his white shirt, finally getting his hands to John’s stomach.  The feather light touches were driving him crazy, and he responded by giving one of Sherlock’s nipples a pinch and a slight twist.  Another gasp came from the detective, and John moved to his neck, kissing and sucking at his pulse points.  “Ah… John…”  Sherlock barely whispered out, bucking his hips.  John moaned at the contact and stood, pulling off his tee and unzipping his pants.  Sherlock hastened to help him, reaching his hands to John’s hips to slip the jeans down his legs.

 

“Bugger.”  John whispered, realizing he still had on the boots and his jeans wouldn’t come all the way off.  He bent forward, trying to loosen them to kick them off, while Sherlock ran his fingers along his thighs causing John to stutter in his movements.  He looked up, trying his best at an angry look, but was sure he only succeeded in a look that conveyed his desire.  “Not helping,” He whispered.  Sherlock grinned.

 

“Would you like my help?”  He murmured, standing and pushing John to the other bed.  John huffed a bit, and watched as Sherlock put one of knee-high boots between John’s legs, and leaned forward, slowly unzipping his own boot, never breaking eye contact.  John felt the brush of Sherlock’s hand as he took off the boot, and switched to the other boot, taking the zipper at the same speed.  John gave a small groan.

 

“Bloody drama queen, get on with it.”  John murmured, grabbing Sherlock for a quick kiss.  Sherlock gave him a wicked grin and moved away from him again, reaching for John’s boots.  They were off in a flash, as were John’s jeans.  Sherlock was kissing up his legs, and John moaned, falling back onto the bed.  He felt Sherlock crawl on top of him, kissing various spots as he made his way back to John’s lips.  When he finally made it to his goal, Sherlock was breathing heavily, and running his hands through John’s hair.  “Sherlock…”  John whispered, when Sherlock broke away for air.

 

“Amazing,” Sherlock whispered back.  And John met his eyes, feeling all the pent up emotions from the past months crash upon him.   _ Fear...Love...Panic...Happiness... _  Sherlock ran a hand through his hair again, eyes never leaving John’s.  John’s eyes filled with tears again, a few spilling over his lashes.  Sherlock wiped them away, bending to kiss him again, gently.

 

Again, their kiss deepened, and John let his hands wander.  His hand found Sherlock’s pants, and he ran a finger under the band, feeling Sherlock stiffen.  “Alright?”  John asked, pulling away, and looking up at the detective.  Sherlock gave a little moan.

 

“Yes, God yes, John, please.”  He replied, leaning forward to kiss him again.  John broke into a smile and reached his hand to Sherlock’s member, rubbing through the fabric.  Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth, and John felt Sherlock’s hand move to his own cock.  He gave a sigh into their kiss, and began to peel off Sherlock’s pants.  Sherlock copied his actions, pulling off John’s pants as well.  When their skin made contact again, John knew he was very close to coming, but he didn’t have time to think about that, as Sherlock took both of them in his hand.  John bucked his hips, and reached his hand to join Sherlock’s, and they began to move together, moaning into the other’s mouth.

 

Their movements became erratic quickly, and John knew it was because of how long they’d been waiting.   _ Almost like having foreplay for years. _  Sherlock was jerking against him, and John felt his whole body warm.  Sherlock had pulled away from John’s lips and was at his ear.  “John… I’m-I’m going to-”  Sherlock was whispering, and John felt as if it was a summons, rather than a warning, for his body tensed as he spilled over, and he kissed John’s neck to muffle the sounds of pleasure coming from his mouth.  John came a moment later, his free hand gripping the bed and writhing in ecstasy. 

 

Sherlock pulled off of John for a moment, and returned with a towel to clean them up.  When he was satisfied, he sat next to John, staring down at him in silence.  As John caught his breath, he stared at his partner, his long time friend, and suddenly knew this was what he had always needed.  He sat up on his elbows, giving a small smile.

 

“So, Sherlock,”  John murmured, giving him an appraising look, “what’s the plan?”  Sherlock grinned widely, and leaned forward to give him another bruising kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this has taken a while! Thank you for your kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!


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